


Big Hit

by NotTheBlue



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Billy Joel - Freeform, Clint has a cult following on the internet and he has no idea, Deaf Clint Barton, Karaoke, M/M, Musician Clint Barton, Writer Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-07 14:36:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18236222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotTheBlue/pseuds/NotTheBlue
Summary: Now he’s waiting impatiently for the song to end, and it’s a shame because it really would be a blast to listen to, if he wasn’t waiting. The singer makes a whole show out of it, shaking his head and moving his hips and yeah, Bucky’s not sure he would’ve found the words to ask him out even if he didn’t recognize him, because the man is fire, plain and simple, bright and shiny and hot enough to hurt.





	Big Hit

The man on the stage knows maybe one in every three words, but it doesn’t make his rendition of Uptown Girl any less inspiring. 

 

The bar projector lit up in sad CMYK and died in the middle of the second karaoke performance of the night, but this dude, all quiet confidence and humorous apologies, is the first one to take the owner’s advice and “just make some words up, who cares, we’re all here to have fun”. The rest just looked up the words on their phones, and Bucky silently judged them for it without really knowing why. 

 

Or at least, he didn’t know why  _ at the time _ . It’s easy, now, to judge anyone who isn’t the man singing on stage. His apology at the beginning has definitely been unwarranted - there’s so much raw emotion to his “Uptown girl, she is giving me a bunch of swords,” that Bucky forgets what the actual lyrics are supposed to be. By “And when she glows, what she does is a cri-i-ime,” Bucky would’ve been in the middle of figuring out how to ask the guy out, except he’s sure he know that voice from somewhere, and if he could just- 

 

Oh. 

 

_ Oh _ . 

 

If he’s right--

 

Now he’s waiting impatiently for the song to end, and it’s a shame because it really would be a blast to listen to, if he wasn’t waiting. The singer makes a whole show out of it, shaking his head and moving his hips and yeah, Bucky’s not sure he would’ve found the words to ask him out even if he didn’t recognize him, because the man is fire, plain and simple, bright and shiny and hot enough to hurt. His blond hair looks pink under the lighting, and when he lifts his gaze during the final verse, Bucky can swear he’s looking right at him. 

 

Uptown Girl ends and Billy Joel is a coward for not really making it about swords, but whatever. Before he can think better of it, Bucky approaches the man. 

 

“Is there a chance you’re, uh, Clint Barton?” 

 

The man blinks. 

 

“Um.” his voice is raspy after the passionate performance. “Yes?” 

 

Bucky lets out an “Oh my god, I knew it!” before he can stop himself. The singer - Clint  _ fucking  _ Barton - looks confused, but thankfully not freaked out. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just, yeah, I’m kind of a big fan.” 

 

“A  _ what _ ?” 

 

Bucky is only about seventy percent sure this is actually happening in real life. When he thought he recognized the voice of the legendary and mysterious Clint Barton, he didn’t prepare himself for the possibility of it really being him. How could he have? The man’s a ghost - no one’s seen him or heard anything about him since 2012, when he uploaded his groundbreaking album to the internet and then disappeared. Some people on the forums think he died, and Bucky’s glad at least that theory has been proven wrong. Others speculate that Clint just didn’t want to live as a public figure, and that’s a lot easier to believe - he may have killed it on the stage, but up close Clint looks kind of hopeless, his button-up stained and untucked, stubble failing to hide the bruises on his jaw. Still pretty stunning, Bucky does not in any way think. 

 

“A fan. Of your music?” Bucky half-apologizes, and takes half a step back so that he doesn’t block Clint’s path. He knows he can come off as intimidating, and the last thing he wants is for Clint Barton to think he’s a crazy stalker. 

 

“It’s not mine? I mean, the words are, but only because I forgot the real ones,” Clint says. He doesn’t look intimidated, or angry, or annoyed. His cheeks are still pink from performing but his eyes, blue and intense, don’t leave Bucky’s, and the impression is unexpectedly adorable. On the stage, two girls are doing a decent “Halo”. they follow Clint’s example and replace every word they don’t know with “pizza”. 

 

“No, I mean your music. Your album, Life as a Weapon? it’s brilliant.” 

 

“What, you know about that?” Clint chuckles, his eyes wide. “Do you know Mike or something? God, I completely forgot about this.” 

 

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to be confused. “You forgot. About the album. That made you a legend.” After a second, he adds, “Who’s Mike?” 

 

“You know, I only let him make my songs into an- an album? Because he said, and I quote, that he ‘needed the experience to get into The Biz’. Never got to hear the full thing, we broke up before I had a chance, and I always figured he burned it right after.” Clint gives Bucky another look, and it’s still not annoyed, but it’s colder than before. “Tell him that if he wants to reach out, he should do it in person.” 

 

Bucky’s beginning to realize Clint has no idea about his relatively big and particularly invested fan-base, but it’s such a shocking realization, Clint is already halfway across the bar when he manages to get his bearings and follow him. Yes, it looks extremely bad, but at the very least, the guy needs to know. 

 

He says “I have no idea who Mike is,” at the same time Clint says “What do you want?” but Clint does stop walking, so Bucky takes a deep breath and tries again.

 

“Someone uploaded your album online in 2012. It has gained thousands of fans. A lot of people have been trying to figure out who you are since.” 

 

“Um.” 

 

“Look, I know it’s hard to believe, but. Just, I can show you, okay? Or I can go, if you want, but I’m not lying, and I don’t know Mike, and I think you should see...” 

 

Bucky digs in his small backpack for his phone, and Clint, instead of running away, takes a step closer. 

 

“Hey, let’s get a table because I think I’ll want to sit down for this.” 

 

And so Bucky find himself sitting at a table with  _ the  _ Clint Barton, two almost-empty shitty beers in front of them, showing him the least creepy forum threads and comments he can find. Which are, he belatedly realizes, still kind of creepy if it’s you they’re talking about. 

 

“So what, all of this is about me? This,” Clint quotes the first comment on the screen. “‘The circus theme is obviously a metaphor, you dipshit. Looking for actual circus performers is a waste of everyone’s time.’ fuck, that’s weird. And wrong.” He hands Bucky his phone and leans back in his chair. “And it’s been going on since 2012?” 

 

“More or less, yeah,” Bucky says. “Was a lot smaller then, obviously. A lot of people joined over the last three years.” and then, because he’d be freaking the fuck out if it was him, “Are you okay? Look, you don’t have to do anything about it. You say the word, and I keep my mouth shut. Promise.” 

 

Clint lets out a hysterical little laugh and knocks over his beer. His scrambling for a napkin knocks over Bucky’s bottle as well, and Bucky thinks in a surrealistic haze,  _ wow, Clint Barton is a clutz, it’s an actual fact I know about him as a person.  _

 

He also manages to make wiping beer off a bar table look good, so there’s that. 

 

“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” Clint says from under the table, where he’s trying to pick up a bottle and accidentally bumps his face into Bucky’s knee. “But you gotta understand, it’s kind of a lot.” 

 

“I can imagine. I’m surprised you didn’t know.”

 

“You thought I was just fucking with everyone?” 

 

Clint sits back up and puts the sticky bottle on the table. He looks pretty lost, which is adorable, and pretty drunk, which is understandable. 

 

Bucky shrugs, because the alternative is to say “everyone’s going to lose their shit when they find out how hot you are,” and Clint’s overwhelmed enough as it is. 

 

“Hey,” Clint says, “We absolutely need to continue this conversation, but I’m pretty drunk and all this-” he gestures towards the stage, where a guy is honest-to-god doing Never Gonna Give You Up, “-is fucking with my hearing aids. How about you give me your number, and tomorrow I’ll call you with a fuckton of questions and we decide how we play this?” 

 

Clint Barton is asking for his number. Clint Barton is asking for his number. Clint Barton is as-

 

“Yes.” 

 

“Great! We-” Clint raises his hand and then drops it, along with his head. “Oh, dude, sorry, I’m the worst. I don’t even know your name.” 

 

Bucky smiles lightly and curses himself for forgetting  _ that  _ small detail. “Uh, James Barnes, but, um, please call me Bucky? Everyone does. I mean.” 

 

Before Bucky can screw up saying his own fucking name even further, Clint’s head rises from the table so fast the beer bottle falls again, and he gives Bucky a disbelieving look. “Wait. Wait. James Barnes as in, science fiction novelist James Barnes?”

 

“Oh my god.” 

 

“Space Train: 1856 James Barnes?”

 

_ “Oh my god.” _

 

“Are you shitting me.” 

 

“You. You’ve read that?” 

 

Clint’s shocked expression turns into a startled smile, and of course it’s gorgeous, but Bucky’s too stunned to notice. 

 

“That book saved my life. I’m not kidding.” Clint says, and Bucky will never be able to handle anything ever again. “And you  _ wrote  _ it.” 

 

There’s a typo on page 368 that managed to get past the extensive editing the book went through. It’s been bugging Bucky since the first (and only) printing of Space Train: 1856. The only thing he can think about now is that if he knew Clint Barton was going to read it, he wouldn’t have made that mistake. He poured his heart and soul into that book, sure, but if he had known it was  _ that  _ important- 

 

He must’ve stayed silent for at least a couple of seconds because Clint wordlessly hands him his phone, the Contacts app already opened. Yeah, they both need tonight to process everything that’s happened. He types in his number and saves it as ‘Bucky (karaoke)’ because he can’t come up with anything witty, and then they’re outside, each heading for the bus stop on the opposite side of the street. 

 

“I’m glad you’re not dead,” says Bucky right before he steps on the crosswalk. “And I’m glad I got to meet you.” 

 

“I’m glad I got to meet you too,” says Clint, sounding tired but sincere in the quiet, cold night. “Good night.”

 

“Good night.” 

 

And then Bucky’s bus is in the station and he has to run to get it, but when he looks, breathless, out of the window, Clint is giving him a small wave, so maybe that typo wasn’t such a big deal after all. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> hey this is my first fic since i asked myself at 13 "what if voldemort had a son and he was a hufflepuff and his name was Happy Happy Riddle" so 1. hope you liked it! 2. everyone who has ever interacted with anything Winterhawk, you are the most inspiring people 3. i'm on [tumblr](https://not-the-blue.tumblr.com/), always happy to talk!


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